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The very thought of manipulating numbers makes me boil from my bones with RAGE! I once was intimate with a manipulative girl. It was a terrible decision. In a like manner, Maths seems to manipulate your soul by spinning it, descending it in an abyss-like spiral shoving your soul, your spirit, and ALL, hurling them down below the depths of hell where Abaddon’s Jaws are agape athirst and avid. As a matter of fact…. I just this moment, thought up an acronym for all of your mnemonic needs in describing Maths to a friend or relative.

Manipulation of Abortive Time-consuming Hell Shit

My hatred of maths began at the ripe young age of 0. That’s right; I began to conclude this grand hypothesis before I left my Mother’s womb. Alas, everything observable in our observable universe begins with 0. Perhaps if we were in the 5th dimension we would witness the intrinsic infinite of quantum suicide. The infinity of every infinitesimal moment we call time, “times”, the infinity of every infinitesimal moment we call time. We are left with “…infinity and beyond,” as Buzz Lightyear would say. Notated in an infinity by infinity matrix with the interval notation of (-∞, ∞).

We would then be able to deduce that our existence is completely and utterly meaningless, and we are but one dot forever dying multiplied with the binomial (-∞+∞).

Furthermore, Perspectivistic Nihilism causes Nietzsche to roll around in his grave infinity times infinity to the infinity power where one may actually discover the cure to cancer in Nietzsche’s moustache, or discover the last remaining egg of the extinct Dodo bird in the mustache, or perhaps even both, the cure to cancer, and that last Dodo bird egg!

ALL of infinity’s possibilities could appear in a two-dimensional formula like this…

[{(-∞·∞)^∞x(-∞+∞)^∞÷(∞x-∞)^-∞+1+0^∞+0)}]

I know what you are thinking…

To say that I don’t give a damn about Maths would be an entirely false premonition.

You see,

I DO give a damn. So much so, that every time I write that Goddamned-forsaken letter “x”, a part of my soul dies. Gets blackened like a swamp swirling in a black hole. And every time I factor, or as my professor would say when I make a mistake, “Don’t be a home-wrecker,” at least one billion of my potential children have died. Perished. Consumed by the intelligible cosmos divided by negative infinity cubed. This, I presume, is a place where darkness and Light blend, melt, combine, and coexist together. Hell and Heaven and ALL of the shit in-between, and beyond infinity and beyond (Lightyear 1).

If I were a murderer in maths, I would be this… √

I would be able to sever and cut down the evil of numbers and leave irrational (and rational) fragments of oozing pulsating blood-red parts for the F.B.I. to examine. I’d sort of feel like… Robin Hood! That’s right! I would be helping my prime imaginary friends from the frightening Tyranny of the upper-class integer power-elites.

To summarize what has been learned today. Brush your teeth, floss, and become an artist like the number seven over there somewhere, or I will have to square root you into oblivion.

To mathematicians gardening in the decay of rust running downward to a pit, the pockmarks of Antichrist. I beseech you, adjure you, pray you plead and supplicate the afterlife to astound us and reveal her mysteries once and for all, one final proof.

This proof…

To answer me in this current and fragile moody moment,

.

..

…

WHY DO I HAVE TO LEARN MATHS!?

(This essay was written for Artistic and Autistic children everywhere of every age.)